


A Game of Us

by Cesare, helens78



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dirty Talk, Forced Exhibitionism, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, M/M, Metal kink, Mind Control, Mind Games, Rape, Rape Fantasy, Shame, Telepathy, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:58:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a <a href="http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/7736.html?thread=14880568#t14880568">kinkmeme prompt</a>. The prompt contains spoilers. </p><p>Please mind the warnings. If you're on the fence about the content, see the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/382610#work_endnotes">end notes</a> for a more detailed description of the content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game of Us

**Author's Note:**

> Triggering content including rape, noncon, mind control, consent issues, a character unwillingly enjoying forced sex, degrading language.

"Erik... are you certain?"

"I'm certain. Not now. The time isn't right."

"And who decides when it's time?"

"I do. I'll decide. It might never happen."

"I suppose we'll see about that."

*

Erik opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, unmoving.

He must have been sleeping. Dreaming. He doesn't feel as if he's just waking up, though. It feels as if he's been waiting.

Not his habit, though. He doesn't lie about; if he's in bed, he's asleep. If he's awake, he's not wasting that time. There's so much planning to do. So much to think about. If he needs more sleep, he can always doze in the passenger seat in the car while Charles drives them to their next set of coordinates, the next mutant on their list.

He's never been able to truly rest with someone that close to him before. He supposes it's the closest he's ever been to trust.

He should go back to sleep, now, but he's rising. Habit, he supposes, his body going through the motions of his morning routine, automatically opening the metal snaps on the pajamas he wears when they stay at hotels, mechanically tugging off the shirt, letting the bottoms fall from his hips. Maybe he should follow those instincts, give up on sleep for tonight, take his shower, examine the CIA file on Shaw again, plot more coordinates against the map.

Only he's turning away from the bath, he's stepping out of his pajama bottoms and heading toward the door, and when he tries in earnest to stop himself, he can't.

He must be dreaming, but as vivid as his many nightmares often are, they aren't like this. The pattern of the motel's ugly carpet, the pilled fabric of the bedspread, dust on the television screen-- he wouldn't dream those sorts of details, things he barely noticed before he turned in for the night.

The door unlocks, the knob turning under his power, and Erik steps into the dimly lit hallway. The brass and nickel of the door fittings click and engage. He feels it as if he's much further away than he is. He's standing nude in the hotel hallway, and when he tries to unlock his door again, he can't. He walks down the hall.

He puts his hand on the doorknob and turns it. It's been a long time since he's done that, unless he needed to fool a human witness to conceal himself in his hunt.

"Hello, Erik," Charles smiles. "There you are, darling. Come in."

He stands a moment longer, and Charles watches him, eyes preying on him. Erik's conscious now of the picture he makes, standing here naked, hand on the door, the potential of his pose. The pose Charles is making him strike. 

Charles brings his fingers to his temple in acknowledgement, tossing off a little gesture like a mocking salute. He sits against the headboard, wearing pajamas as well. As soon as Erik enters the room and shuts the door behind him, Charles begins to undress, without hurry; without lingering over it, either.

Erik stares... Charles doesn't have to make him do that. He's never seen Charles this way before, the flex of muscle animating his pale freckled shoulders, the strength of his arms and chest. He slides off his pajama pants and casts them aside. His thighs are round with muscle, his cock hard and red, the foreskin tight, sliding back from the head.

He can't help thinking that if Charles had taken off his clothes before he propositioned Erik all those weeks ago, Erik would've been more likely to say yes.

"Too late for that now," Charles says, and his polite accent clashes with the tone, his voice a low rolling threat. Erik only has enough time to register that, to try to tense and find even that is beyond his control-- only a moment, and he's folding to his hands and knees.

He can't stop himself, can't even tense against this violation, but he can think. Charles taught him how to reach out with his mind, in case of an emergency, he said. Erik puts as much into it as he can, tries to blast Charles with his betrayal, his rage and panic. «You can't do this. _You_ can't do this, you can't want this.»

«I told you that I wanted you. 'Not now.' 'It might never happen.'» An echo of Erik's own voice. «You knew I wouldn't accept that. You wanted me to claim you. And now I am.»

«No, I don't want this,» Erik thinks, but his mouth opens without him, his lips shape, "Yes. Please, I want this. Thank you, Charles."

"You're very welcome, Erik," Charles says. His voice is deep and sweet, and he pats the bed next to him with an easy smile.

Erik begins to crawl across the room. He's faced fear often enough in his life, he knows adrenaline is to blame for his racing pulse and hardening cock. This isn't him, he doesn't _want_ this. He's felt desire for Charles, but he doesn't want it to be like this.

From moment to moment, Erik's certain he can stop himself, break Charles's hold on him. He can feel the cage of Charles's power around him, he can feel himself taxing Charles's ability to control him.

He reaches the bed and clambers onto the mattress next to Charles. He lays himself out like a gift, his hands loose and open, palms up, and Charles rests a hand on his shoulder. His hand is warm. This is no nightmare, this is really happening, Charles is _touching_ him and Erik can't move.

Erik brings all his will to bear against Charles, concentrates on nothing but «NO,» laboring to shake Charles's control for even a moment.

"Good effort! I almost felt that," Charles laughs. "Maybe next time," and Erik's heart sinks, realizing that the strain he's been feeling, as if Charles has to work to hold him, is no more real than a cat briefly lifting its paw from a mouse.

"No," Charles says. "That's not it. That's not why you can't shake me." He shifts, trailing his fingers down Erik's arm, touching his inner wrist, his open palm.

Somehow that's the worst yet, a fresh flood of panic drowning Erik. Charles grazes his fingertips over the lines of Erik's palm, and Erik can't close his hand. The simplest, most basic defense, and he _can't._

He never knew how vulnerable his hand could feel. He never knew how sensitive his palm could be, Charles trailing his touch there so lightly.

With shocking suddenness, Charles lifts his hand away and grasps Erik's erection. Erik can't even tense. He can't react at all. He wants to believe it's his body's fight-or-flight reaction that has him hard.

He's afraid, shaken down to his core, that it's not.

"You want this," Charles says. His other hand slides up over Erik's belly, rubs the thin hair on his chest, tests one nipple with a flick of his fingernail, and the other. "You could stop me, but you won't. You want this."

«No,» Erik thinks, but his lips part, his tongue slides theatrically over his lower lip. "I want you so much, Charles," his voice says. "I want your hands on me. I want your fingers inside me. I want your cock. I want to suck you. I'll do anything."

«I'd never say that,» Erik wants to scream, can only think. «I don't want that!»

«You'd never say it,» Charles agrees, and then he's dipping into Erik's mind, letting Erik feel him do it, drawing up a fantasy. Nothing Erik ever lets himself imagine... not til he's on his own and close, so close with his hand blurring on his cock and he just needs a little more, and he imagines: this. Charles knocking his hand away, Erik's body like a statue as Charles takes over, shouldering his legs apart and fucking him.

«I don't want it, it's just a fantasy, I don't want everything I've ever thought about. You know that. Don't do this! Don't make me your enemy,» but the threat dies in his mind before he can begin to construct it. Erik can't promise to make Charles pay for this. Charles can make him forget.

"You don't think this is the first time this has happened, do you?" Charles strokes Erik's cock, light and careless, and Erik wants to move-- oh, God, he can't stop this, he won't even remember it later, and he wants to move, he wants-- to lift his hips to that touch.

"That's right," Charles purrs. "You want me to touch you. I can make you feel so good, Erik."

«Stop. Please. I'm asking you to stop. If you were ever my friend, if I'm anything to you. Please.»

Charles turns his head away, and for a moment Erik thinks perhaps he's struck a nerve, maybe he can still escape this.

Only for a moment. Charles lifts his hand, and Erik feels his own power-- at a remove, but it's his, it's him. Under Charles's direction, he's lifting a metal ashtray from the bureau, and it flies to Charles.

"How good are you at purifying metal?" Charles asks, with the same friendly fascination as every conversation they've had about exploring their powers. "Can you separate the carbon residue from the aluminium? Can you make this clean?"

He's using Erik's power to crumple the ashtray, fold it on itself to make a solid mass, reshaping it into a flared bulb. Erik fights him for it, he resists, and maybe again Charles is only letting him feel as if he might be able to wrest control back, but maybe not.

This is _his,_ this is Erik's power, unique to his own genes-- he knows that _because_ of Charles. Charles has controlled other people before, other bodies and minds, he's practiced at that. But he's never controlled anyone who can do what Erik can do. Maybe it's here that Erik has a chance.

"Erik," Charles says, "don't be stubborn. I don't think you're going to want cigarette ashes where this is going to go."

«--You can't,» Erik thinks. He _can't._

But his mouth says, "Oh, God, yes, please Charles, put it in me," and his legs are drawing up. He's holding his knees against his chest, spreading himself obscenely wide, his cock hard and wet against his belly, everything exposed.

"Just like this?" Charles smiles at him, small and almost shy. "Won't the drag of metal hurt you a bit?" He knees his way over, across the bed, down where he has access to everything, can _see_ everything. Erik wants to close his legs, let go of them, turn over, scramble off the bed, but instead he holds still as Charles slides a hand up the back of his thigh, gripping Erik just behind the knee and holding his leg in place there.

It frees up one of Erik's hands, and sure enough, Charles has plans for that hand. "Show me where you want me to touch you," Charles says.

«Nowhere,» Erik thinks, «let me go.» "Everywhere," he says aloud, hand sweeping up and down his chest, then down to his cock, where he strokes himself several times, moaning throatily with his head pitched back against the pillows. "Charles... please... let me touch myself for you, let me come for you, get myself wet and sticky with it, please..."

"Erik, darling." Charles _tsks_ at him, rubs the fingers of his free hand into Erik's cleft. His fingertips tease at Erik's opening, press gently against it, and Erik's first instinct is to clench against the invasion.

Charles's hand tightens under Erik's knee. «No,» he thinks, «let's have your body do what you _want_ it to do, not what your sweet little arse is _inclined_ to do. Oh, Erik, how many times have you begged me to open you up and fuck you?»

Erik can't remember. It could be never, or once, or a thousand times, a dozen times a night in these cheap motel rooms. Maybe he's Charles's whore _every_ night, lying hard and leaking and exposed for him every time they stop for rest. Maybe Charles makes him forget every time, and it's only Charles's power making him feel that he's well-rested, that he's not too sore to sit and his jaw doesn't ache from Charles fucking his mouth.

He shivers, and when Charles presses against his opening again, this time he gains a little ground. Erik's body doesn't fight him.

"I want you held open for me," Charles murmurs. "I think you ought to help out with that, darling. Open your mouth."

Stubbornly, he tries to clench his jaw, and succeeds only in licking his lips and opening his mouth wide. He feels the soft tug of his ability as Charles's improvised plug glides toward him, through the air, resting at his mouth before teasing gently back and forth against his lower lip.

«Lick,» Charles thinks.

«No,» Erik tries to respond.

But that's what he's doing. He's stretching his tongue out, licking, tasting a hint of ash and wishing he'd fought Charles less on the plug, shaken the ash off with a quick vibration. The plug pushes into his mouth, further and further, and Erik closes his lips around it, sucks on it, feels the metal heat from his mouth and his tongue. He realizes, all in a rush-- this is all the lubrication the plug is going to get. And even without Charles goading him to do it, he licks with a little more intent, gets it as wet as he can.

The bulb of the plug is smooth in his mouth, but it won't go in easy, not without something to slick it; Erik tries to coat it completely with saliva, taking it in deeper. Charles rubs the metal against his tongue and lips, rocking it in and out.

"That's what I like to see," Charles says, "some cooperation. It feels good, doesn't it," and shame courses through Erik, his face going hot. His mouth is sensitized, the aluminum is clean now and tastes good on his tongue, the metal attuned to him.

«You're doing this,» he thinks. «You can make me feel things. You're doing this to me.»

"We both know better." Charles slides the plug out of Erik's mouth with a soft pop and turns it, looking at the gleam. "Nicely done." He leans down Erik's body, his neat hair falling out of order, damp at his brow with a hint of sweat that's defeating whatever he fixes it with.

Erik braces himself, but nothing happens. Nothing happens, and the plug must be drying in the air-- maybe Charles is waiting for that, damn him-- nothing happens, and Erik's _ready_...

It shoves into him all at once, and it hurts, it's so solid and hard. It hurts, but his balls throb when Charles twists it, and he can feel fresh drops of precome gathering at the head of his cock.

«Don't do this to me,» Erik thinks. «Don't make me know this.»

"It feels so good," he says, his voice ragged. "I need more, please, Charles, give me more."

Oh, God, there's more, he thought that was all of it, but Charles pushes, and it's bigger, wider, his ass feels hot and stretched and tender. He can't possibly take any more, it's not wet enough, his body won't yield to it.

"You underestimate yourself," Charles says, and twirls the plug a little as he works it further in again. It _hurts,_ he must be torn, he must be bleeding. Charles tuts. "No, you're not," he says. "I take good care of my things." He traces around the plug with his fingertip, where the skin burns, stretched and sensitive. Another unwanted thrill runs through Erik's balls, his prick twitching against his belly, betraying him.

"You like that," Charles sounds delighted. "We can have some fun with that. Oh! First, let's do this, I had another idea."

He uses Erik's power to draw a chain of steel paperclips from the pocket of his trousers, where they lie on the floor. Before Erik even has time to dread them, Charles shoulders his legs apart-- another pulse of excitement takes him, and Charles smiles at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry, not yet for that. You'll get everything you want eventually, don't worry." Charles plucks the paperclips out of the air and Erik feels his own power mastered, the clips falling into two lumps that Charles molds into simple tweezer shapes with coils to hold them shut.

Charles bends over him, and his own erection prods against Erik's stomach, his body presses down too lightly on Erik's hard cock, and Erik struggles against Charles's control again-- this time trying to buck up against him for more.

«No. I wasn't, I didn't,» but when Charles licks his nipple, sucks it erect and bites down, he releases his hold on Erik for an instant, and in that instant, Erik doesn't fight or call out.

He arches up, breathing, "Please!"

"That's it," Charles approves warmly, taking him over again. He applies the first clamp to Erik's chest, pressing right where Charles's teeth sank in, like it's sealing that bite on his flesh forever.

Charles does the same to the other nipple. The doubled ache of the clamps makes Erik's entire chest feel sore, awake with pain. Charles's hand down his sternum makes his skin break out in gooseflesh.

He's trembling with anticipation-- Charles is letting him, or making him, do that. If Charles touches his cock, his hand... or his _mouth,_ if he gives Erik that...

But Charles detours around his cock and shifts down the bed instead, his head dips, and Erik gasps, he can't, he _can't,_ that can't be, he can't stand this, he has to move, he has to get away or get-- more, he needs more, more of this, Charles is _licking_ him there, the hot tight skin of his hole around the plug. 

Every nerve in his body seems to feel it, wet, soft, strong strokes, the tip of Charles's tongue tracing the plug where it's holding Erik wide open.

«You want this so badly, it's like your mind is screaming it out. Ask me,» Charles puts in his head. «Beg me. Let yourself go, Erik. It's right there, I feel it. Let it out.»

«No,» Erik shoves the thought at him with all the force of his need for more. «No, stop, damn you, stop, I don't-- I don't want to want this.» He's never felt so much all at once before... shocked, humiliated... excited out of his mind, so hard he can barely stand it. He's so close to breaking down, he can feel it threatening. Charles keeps licking him, the sounds increasingly obscene, and the way it feels... Erik didn't know anything could feel like this, pain that makes him crave more and more, pleasure so gently relentless it's excruciating.

«If I let you move right now, you'd touch yourself,» Charles thinks. «You wouldn't be able to help it. Shall I let you?»

«Please-- don't, don't,» Erik changes the thought in time.

Charles lifts his head. His lips look dark and used, shining wet. How can _he_ be so shameless? He put his mouth there, he licked Erik there, that's so much more filthy than anything. Charles ought to be the one ashamed to the edge of tears. He's smiling, though, perfectly comfortable, completely in control.

"Let's do this, then," Charles says aloud, and he licks his palm-- playing it up, lascivious, responding to Erik's thoughts. He cups his hand over the head of Erik's cock, not quite touching. Even the warmth of that near-touch, even the hope of pressure there... if Erik could move, he might honestly whine, he might beg. His mind is a mess with the struggle not to plead in his thoughts.

Tracing around the plug with another faint touch, Charles abruptly takes hold of it and tugs it out, forcing Erik's body to stretch around the bulb again. And pushes it in.

«No,» Erik thinks one last time, because he knows in another moment, he won't be able to think about anything else but this, how this _feels,_ how desperately he needs more.

"I don't think you mean that," Charles says, and now it's more like he's simply holding the plug in place while Erik tilts his hips, shoving against the plug, pulling away from it, impaling himself on it, and Erik doesn't know if he's being forced now or not. He doesn't know, he just _needs._

"Please fuck me," Erik gasps. He's not sure if Charles is making him say it or setting him free.

"Don't be in such a hurry," Charles says. "We have all night."

"Please let me," Erik's voice breaks. He can't be saying this of his own volition, it's not possible... but he still can't be certain it's all Charles when he begs, "Please let me come like the whore I am," and he's strangling on it, all of it, the threat of tears, the burning shame, the rage... the base, furtive gratification. He's never been brought so low. He's never needed anything this much.

"All right," Charles says, almost benevolent, almost soothing, and he flattens his hand.

That's all it takes, so little: Charles presses his wet palm against the head of Erik's cock, and Erik ruts up against it, every movement lifting him off the plug and then driving it deep inside him again, and he doesn't care, he _wants it,_ even that, even that.

He's coming almost before he can understand what's happening to him, so tangled and frantic the first spasm barely reaches him, but then it hits so hard he can't breathe. All he can do is shudder under Charles's hand, coming and coming, shooting all over himself. Every drop that hits his skin makes him feel dirty and wet and disgusting, and somehow, at this moment, that just makes him hotter, makes him arch into it with more pleasure than ever.

When it's over, once Charles lets him put his legs down, when Erik's lying there streaked with semen and heaving for breath, he thinks, _At least it's over._ The pain in his clamped nipples is just pain, now. The shame he feels is just bleak and demeaning. There's no thrill in it. He wants to move. He wants a shower. He wants to put his hands around Charles's neck and squeeze.

Charles drags a finger through the spunk on Erik's chest and sucks it into his mouth. «You're not very kind, my darling,» he chides lightly.

«You're going to make me forget this later. You'll have to, or I'll kill you,» Erik thinks, but there's a thread of doubt in him. Charles has obviously read his mind, gleaned his fantasies, seen down to the pitch-black bottom of his psyche, where he's dreamed of the kind of total control Charles could assume over him. Longed for it. 

«It doesn't matter what you saw in me. You had no right.»

«True. Reading those fantasies in your mind gives me no right to enact them without leave,» Charles muses. «But I don't need the right. I have the power.» He moves up the bed and throws a leg over Erik, kneeling over his head. «And you love it. Feel how you're salivating? I'm not doing that. Your body's reacting to me. To this,» Charles takes his cock in hand and slaps it against Erik's cheek. It leaves a sticky wet mark, Erik can feel it on his skin. «Like a dog hearing a bell.»

Erik clenches his jaw as hard as he can, but Charles simply cups his face, and all the muscles relax. Charles tugs Erik's lower lip down with his thumb and eases his cock into Erik's mouth, just dipping into him and looking down as if he's admiring the effect. He closes Erik's mouth and uses his power to make little adjustments: the suction, the pressure, the position of Erik's tongue.

He slides in and out at an easy pace, and this is degrading, but Erik can endure it. Then Charles takes his head in both hands and plunges into his mouth and down his throat, his cock hard and solid, filling everything. Erik's gag reflex tries to spasm and he feels Charles tweak something in his head to make it stop. His eyes water. Charles lets that happen.

«I could do this all night,» Charles tells him. «That's not a boast. It's not just your body I can control with my power. It's mine, as well. I can keep myself right here on the edge for as long as I want to ride it.»

Erik's mouth feels sore and abraded. He wishes Charles didn't taste good to him, flesh and salt, mostly clean, a hint of musk. He's not aroused any more, this shouldn't feel right, Charles using his mouth. It shouldn't make him want control of his hands back to cup Charles's ass, just to feel the muscles bunch and stretch, feel the force he's bringing to bear.

"I could come on your face and you'd love it," Charles husks aloud. Strain and excitement make his voice unbelievably lewd. The contrast of his posh accent only heightens the effect.

A slow roll of fresh arousal surges through Erik's stomach, his chest. Above him, glossed with sweat now and flushed with exertion, Charles smiles. Between rapid breaths, he says, "Wonderful-- you're already gearing up for round two."

Charles pulls out of Erik's mouth, leaving his lips buzzing with leftover sensation. Leaving him _wanting,_ oh God, Charles has to be doing this to him with his mind. He can't be aroused again already.

«Not my doing,» Charles tells him. «I could get you hard again, but why would I rush? I love to feel you fighting it. Denying it. Giving in to it.» He arranges himself against the headboard in the middle of the bed and moves Erik, positioning him on hands and knees, _presenting_ to Charles like an animal. Erik's face is heating again, his ears and neck, even his chest feels hot.

Wriggling the plug in him, Charles says, "We can do more with this. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Charles, please, I need more," Erik's mouth says. «I hate this, I don't care what you're telling yourself, I don't care what you're putting in my head...»

The first slap takes him completely by surprise, Charles's flattened hand coming down hard across his ass, jarring the plug, setting off sparks-- all that solid metal filling him up, pressing against him everywhere, huge inside him.

The next slap is only on the right buttock, the third only on the left, and Charles sets the pattern and keeps it up, spanking him as if he were a misbehaving child. Center, right, left, every slap shockingly loud.

«You're wondering if anyone can hear you. Oh, my darling, everyone can hear you.» Charles gathers and transmits the thoughts of a dozen people in the rooms around them: angry about the noise, wondering what's going on, two who've guessed what's happening and find it exciting to eavesdrop... those are the worst. «I won't let any of them call in a complaint. But they can hear you. Say something to your adoring public.»

There has to be a way to stop this, to stop even the smallest part of it, at least just this, his voice, his mouth. But Erik can't find it. "I'm a whore. Spank me," he pants. "I need it. I deserve it, I never should have made you wait. I'm so sorry. I'm yours, I've always been yours. You can do whatever you want to me. Punish me, Charles."

The sharp smacks keep coming. It goes on and on, the heat building til his skin blazes with it. Right, left, center, shoving the plug deeper. Right, left, center, and Erik braces himself for every third blow, anticipates it... waits for it... wishes it were harder, his cock stiffening with every blow. 

Right, left, center, Charles's hand comes down over and over again, driving the plug into him, finding a new and even more humiliating way to fuck him.

Charles stops, finally, and skitters the tips of his fingernails across the burning, sensitized skin. "Look at that," he reaches underneath to caress Erik's erection. "It feels as though you didn't hate that as much as you thought after all." He wiggles the plug, twists it; every movement drives Erik just a little more out of his mind. And then Charles tugs at the base, pulling steadily, and Erik feels his body stretch, unbearable and so good and so unbearable that it's good...

And then the plug is gone, and there's nothing where there was so much just a moment ago, and he's left-- hungry for it, _starved_ for it, he's so hard it hurts, so empty and needy he can't stand it, he can't stand wanting like this, he can't stand wanting _this._

It doesn't matter that he came once already, that he's still spattered with it, covered with it. It feels like every part of his body is alive to this, taut, expectant. Charles rubs his palms up Erik's back, massages his shoulders, trails his fingers down again and kneads Erik's thighs. This time when he moves Erik, he uses his hands to direct him, touching him everywhere except where Erik needs it most.

Charles puts him on his back again and settles between Erik's legs; he leans over him and plucks the clips off his nipples, kneeling back and teasing the tip of his cock against Erik's hole. The sudden absence of those twin pinches makes Erik arch, and then the sore flesh _really_ start to hurt, and desire spikes in him so profoundly that he thinks, «Please, yes, please» before he can stop himself. 

He's appalled, ashamed, so guilty his throat aches with it. He thinks wildly, «You _bastard,_ when I get free I'll make you pay for this, I hate this, don't make me do this, please stop, just stop, not that, not that, I'll do anything, _stop stop stop,_ please»

"Please," he sounds ruined, "I need you to fuck me, I need you to open my ass up and spit into it and push your fingers inside me and take me. I'm _filthy,_ Charles, I'm your dirty desperate whore and I need you to use me, please, I'm yours, I need your cock and your come and your spit, I need you to make me beg for it just like this, I love it, _please..."_

His eyes sting. He's not sure how much of that was Charles. He's not sure any of it was. Every word feels true.

"Whatever you want, love," Charles says, and he moves back and bends to spit on him. When he gets back into position, he slides two fingers easily into Erik, and the guttural sound of satisfaction Erik makes... he knows Charles didn't do that.

"I should let them in, those humans who can hear us," Charles says. "I should just throw open the door. But you don't care about them, do you. It's us, your own kind. You know, that rude mutant today, he might sing a different tune if I called him here now and let him have a turn at you. As a recruitment strategy, it bears looking into. And I think you rather fancied him, didn't you? Would you like him to see you like this, squirming around like a slut, this wild from nothing but my fingers?"

"Anything," Erik's voice breaks, a tiny embarrassment added in with all the endlessly multiplying humiliations: everything that's happening, everything Charles threatens, his shame that the threats add to his arousal, the awful thrill he feels with every fresh disgrace. He's so far gone that the degradation itself only excites him more. "I don't want him, I don't want anyone else. But I'm yours, you can do what you want with me. I'll do anything for you, just please, please take me."

Erik's hands move without his control, tucking under his knees, pulling his legs against his chest, spreading his thighs. Charles's fingers feel good, so good, opening him up even more still, but it's a tease, and Erik can't move under his own power, can't push back against him, can't demand more, can't plead for it.

Finally, finally Charles works his cock into Erik, but he stops too soon, lodged just inside, unmoving, the most agonizing yet.

«Charles, please. Please let me go. Let me move. I'll do all of it, whatever you want, I'll do anything, willingly, I will,» oh, God, no... but he would, he will. He wants this so much and he doesn't care if it shames him, he wants that too, all of it coming down on him, Charles is even in his _mind_ , looking on him with contempt, _yes,_ watching him lower himself, sinking to the furthest depths, completely abject with raw need. «I'll do anything you want and I'll love it. Just please please let me, I need to move, I need to touch you, I need more--»

He gasps as Charles thrusts forward and suddenly he's all there, so much deeper than the plug and so hard, perfect, filling that ache, relief echoing through Erik's entire body.

Charles eases out and Erik thinks wretchedly, «No no nonono, don't stop, don't ever stop, don't leave me,» in the endless seconds til Charles drives into his body again, owning him, every inch of him, every part of him.

All he can do is take it, body spread open and possessed, even his mind invaded, not one thing left that's his. Charles has all of him now.

Charles fucks him relentlessly til his hair's soaked through, til drops of sweat roll off his face and onto Erik's chest. Every stroke drives Erik closer and closer, every time he feels like the next thrust will be the one that brings him off, and it doesn't happen and doesn't happen til he feels as if he's nothing but nerve endings, nothing but craving. 

He would do anything, he really would do absolutely anything and he'd like it, he'd love it, he'd scream it for anyone to hear that he needs this, he needs to be fucked just like this. His chest is heaving with it, with what Charles has made him know-- he's so close, so _close,_ and he feels Charles touch his brow, the pleasure unfolding and expanding and taking him over-- he's coming so hard, helpless, contorting, his body seized by it as the truth unlocks in his mind.

*

Lying in his lover's arms, feeling, for possibly the first time in his life, safe. If only in this moment, with this man.

There's nothing Charles doesn't know about him, now. And Charles is still right here, kissing the guilt and shame off his face, his lips taking away the tears Erik can't acknowledge.

"I want to," Erik says finally. "I really want you to do it."

Charles strokes back his hair. "Erik... are you certain?"

"I'm certain," he nods. "Not now. The time isn't right." He's not sure when he'll be ready, and part of him-- the same part of him that longs for the worst of it-- that part of him wants Charles to just do it to him, no consent, no warning.

"And who decides when it's time?" Charles asks.

"I do. I'll decide," Erik promises. He curls up with him closer still, his head against Charles's chest, listening to his heart. "It might never happen."

"I suppose we'll see about that," Charles murmurs.

Days, weeks pass, and for a while, the promise of someday is enough. He and Charles come together nearly every night, and sometimes they act it out. Sometimes Charles really uses his power to pin Erik, control his movements. It feels amazing, electrifying. 

But he dreams of what it would be like, if Charles made him forget. If just for a little while, the fantasy felt real.

He lies in his room in a slightly rundown hotel that's seen better days. The elevator's out of order, and not many people are willing to haul their luggage up four flights of stairs, especially with plenty of rooms available on the lower floors. Charles took rooms on the top floor without comment. No other guests are staying in the immediate area, few in the building at all.

It's not the first opportunity Charles has given him. There have been chances before, and he let them pass, but Erik stares up at the ceiling and this time, he's sure. Now. Now, tonight.

«Charles.»

«Yes, love?»

«I'm ready,» Erik tells him, and closes his eyes.

*

He comes around slowly. He's been cleaned up as well as a washcloth can manage, he can feel that. He senses Charles near him, but not touching, his mental presence slightly hesitant.

Erik opens his eyes and stares up at Charles, reaching for his hand.

Charles takes it quickly, squeezing tight.

"I," his voice sounds raw. "I'm... Charles..." It's dizzying, the scope of what they've done. Everything he let Charles sequester in his mind, locked away in his head for the last few hours. Their entire affair, every night they've spent together, every moment of trust that led Erik to confess what Charles already knew, had always known from the start.

"You were telling the truth all along," he says, staggered. All those things Charles said... _You wanted me to claim you. And now I am._

"The best policy," Charles offers. "A few strategic alterations to suit your fantasy. Some things you wanted to hear. The illusion of people overhearing us, concealing the Vaseline with a little sleight of mind. But largely yes, it was all true." His smile is brief and rueful. "I was reminding myself as much as tormenting you."

"Come here," Erik gets out, and relief spreads on Charles's face and out from his mind as he gets close, wrapping his arms around Erik and holding on.

«It's all right, you're all right, oh, thank God,» Charles thinks in a rush, tucking his head under Erik's chin and embracing him almost too tightly. «I knew it was all what you wanted, I knew that was how you wanted to feel. But I couldn't help worrying that you wouldn't forgive me.»

Of course he has cause to fear that Erik couldn't pardon him, for all the reasons that always lie unspoken between them.

But Charles is different. In every way, he's an exception.

"I do," Erik says, combing fingers through Charles's hair, still a little damp.

Charles breathes deeply, calming himself. «Even though I liked it?» He shifts his head to say it aloud, still curled too close to meet Erik's eyes. "I liked it. Not just for your sake. I liked it."

"Tell me," he says.

«Exerting that much control over you, feeling you fight me that way, _really_ fighting... I've never felt that before. And your will is so strong. It was genuinely challenging. I loved it,» Charles confesses. 

«Then I'm glad I could give you that. All of us should be stretching what we can do. You, too.»

Disbelief from Charles. «Like this?»

«I realize it's not the sort of training you'd ever devise... but if it works out that way, take advantage. Though it had better not be like this with anyone else,» Erik's arms tighten around Charles, a flare of possessiveness flashing through him.

«Never. Don't be absurd,» Charles scolds gently. «You know that I'm yours as much as you're mine.»

Now that he remembers it all, he does know that. Erik bends his head and seeks Charles's mouth, trading kisses with him, nipping his lower lip to bring out that vibrant shade of red.

«Insatiable,» Charles thinks, and Erik feels himself settling like a house on its foundations; Charles isn't taunting him or shaming him, only teasing him.

Still, when he thinks of Charles saying the same thing in that dark, demanding voice, or sliding it into his mind when Erik is helpless, a frisson runs through him.

«You should say that to me next time,» Erik tells him.

«Next time,» Charles thinks, careful. He kneels up in bed and looks down at Erik, proprietary, admiring. «Let's get you cleaned up, my dear.»

The hotel's best days are behind it, but the bath is still grand, a large clawfoot tub, porcelain enamel over cast iron. Erik reshapes it a bit further to accommodate them both. If it damages the finish, a few more cracks and flaws won't attract any notice here.

Charles sits on the rolled rim and runs the bath, leaning to dip his hand in and test the water, naked and elegant. Erik studies him. He knows every curve and sinew of his body, every swell and indentation; he knows all those freckles by heart.

"I can't believe I thought that was the first time I'd ever seen you nude," Erik says. "Even that."

"Even that," Charles smiles. He climbs into the tub and arranges himself, holding a hand out to Erik.

"You even made me believe I'd turned you down." Erik joins him in the water, resting between his legs and lying back against him. "Madness."

"Rather," Charles murmurs. "But tell me again." «Tell me you liked it, darling.»

Facing away, lying back against him, Erik can give him those thoughts easily, gladly. «I loved it.»

Reaching for the shampoo, Charles pours a measure into his hand and begins to massage it into Erik's hair. His fingertips rub soothingly over Erik's scalp. «What do you think, what else should we do next time?»

«Next time...» For a moment it's difficult again, but he's surrounded by warmth, as safe as he's ever likely to feel in this lifetime. Charles touches him firmly and gently, lathering his hair and kissing his cheek. «Next time, could you make me beg a little longer? I was near tears, I was there. I could almost have gotten to tears... please, Charles. Next time, please make me cry.»

«Yes, love. Of course I will,» Charles promises. «It'll be my pleasure.»

**Author's Note:**

> "Erik, who is in an established relationship with Charles, has a mind control rape fantasy. He and Charles negotiate details, and then Charles, with Erik's consent, makes Erik forget the conversation. And for the duration of the scene, Charles also makes Erik forget that he and Charles are involved at all..." [Full kinkmeme prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/7736.html?thread=14880568#t14880568).


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